


Mother

by Xaidurk



Category: Black Jack (Anime & Manga), Osamu Tezuka Star System
Genre: M/M, Mommy Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 05:06:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xaidurk/pseuds/Xaidurk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mostly Black Jack's thoughts about his mom while he's doin' it. If you don't think Black Jack has mommy issues or a strong Oedipal complex, well I'm not sorry to say that you're wrong, just wrong. Erotic but not necessarily smutty, I suppose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother

Lips lightly grazed his body. They stumbled from scar to scar and traced each one with the precision of a surgeon. And these lips did belong to a surgeon—besides the occasional patient, Black Jack only did this with fellow doctors.

Well, never mind. He wasn’t a doctor, and neither was this person. Not legally, anyway.

The room was dim and Black Jack was thankful for that. There was a mirror across from them—part of the cheap hotel ensemble, likely—and he hated seeing himself degrade into some pathetic, submissive wretch. But it was the only way he could do this. He had no choice. It gave him an uncomfortable comfort, like that thin, hardly warm but irresistibly soft blanket.

The lips wrapped themselves around his most private spot. Black Jack drew in a breath and closed his eyes.

“Muh—!” he uttered.

“Hm?” A deep voice rumbled through his waist. A single eye flashed up at him.

“Nothing. Don’t stop.”

And the lips continued. A wet tongue joined, and soon fingers. The orgy settled on his member and between his thighs. It writhed on his flesh. He covered his asymmetrical face and placed a single finger between his teeth. Fleetingly, a whimper escaped his throat. He bit down lightly.

_Boys don’t cry, Kuro’o._

A muscle in his throat—the glottis—expanded. He bit harder and lifted his legs. Cold fingers stroked the back of his calves, and numb skin was brought to life.

Ah, that old patch. While all the borrowed bits of his body were valuable—priceless, even—this one mattered the most to him. Even more than the one on his face. Each day he stroked that spot and silently tried to remember what it felt like before it had been cut from her body, stretched, and sewn to his leg.

Her face was easy enough to remember, though. A smile spread across his face and he was in his bed with her. She tickled his tummy and laughed at his rosy cheeks.

“Black Jack,” that voice said. His eyes snapped open. “Do you like this?” Black Jack nodded.

“…yes,” he replied.

“Then let me know, for God’s sake.” A finger made a sudden movement and Black Jack groaned. He immediately covered his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut once more.

_Don’t be afraid, Kuro’o. I’ll take care of you._

Those fingers attacked him relentlessly, snaking in and around him. Their ally, the tongue, didn’t make things easier. He grunted and bit his hand harder, until the gag was pulled away.

“Let me hear you,” that deep voice breathed. The fingers pulled away and were replaced with something much larger, more intrusive. Now, the hands’ task was to hold down his arms. Black Jack turned his head and made a sad attempt to bury his face in the pillow.

It was impossible to stifle his voice. It built in his throat at the same rate as whatever was building in his belly. He stared off at the mirror, eyes glazed and not really seeing—thank God.

It didn’t take much longer for him to lose control. His body jerked.

“Mommy!” His voice was tight.

Black Jack lied back and let himself melt into the bed. The other man collapsed on top of him and panted. Soon, the other was sitting up and smoking. Black Jack was on his side, away from him. He stared into the mirror, this time comprehending its reflection.

“Hey, Black Jack,” the man said. “Was it good for you?” Black Jack didn’t answer; just sat up and took the cigarette. He smoked from it before reaching over and snuffing it out.

“Cradle me,” he murmured, curling closer to the man’s body. He obliged as Black Jack leaned into his chest. “Stroke my hair, and call me Kuro’o.”

A thin hand touched his mismatched hair. Those long fingers combed through the tresses of black and white.

“Whatever you want, Kuro’o.”

Kuro’o closed his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Not much to say about this one. I still kinda like it, though. I Google'd the name of that throat muscle and sadly it wasn't quite as poetic-sounding as I wanted it to sound, but I'm not one to make up names for anatomical body parts. Except when I'm talking about genitals. Then I use whatever combination of letters I want.


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